


Redeeming Value

by laisserais



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Non-Consensual Spanking, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-19
Updated: 2007-07-19
Packaged: 2018-10-29 09:29:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10851174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laisserais/pseuds/laisserais
Summary: Sam has always known there was something wrong with him.





	Redeeming Value

**Author's Note:**

> Imported from LJ. Originally posted 7/19/07
> 
> (As I write this note, it's almost exactly a decade later, and: plus ca change, no?)
> 
> * * *
> 
> Dear Livejournal,
> 
> Your silliness knows no bounds. I read your ToS notices and shake my head and smile. Good luck with that.
> 
> Love,
> 
> mm
> 
> In honor of the latest hullabaloo over 'Redeeming Value' and fiction depicting underage characters, I have decided to post a story. I never thought I would, because it kind of pushes my own boundaries a little, but... hey! it's a special occasion.

* * *

**Redeeming Value**

Sam knows that there's something terribly wrong with him.

 

He's four when he sees his dad hit Dean. It's the first and last time, and it scares the hell out of him.

 

 

Dad had gone out and Dean was in charge. He'd told Sam to stay in the room, that he'd only be gone for a second. The details are hazy now, but he does remember that. He remembers Dean looking down at him, as he sat on the floor watching T.V., and saying that he'd be right back.

Next thing he remembers is being terrified and surrounded by water. He was drowning, taking chemically water into his lungs in huge gulps.

There was screaming, and then a huge splash, and there were hands on him, dragging him up and back into the air.

Later, when he was shivering in a thin hotel towel, Dad got back and turned Dean over his knee.

The spanking couldn't have lasted as long as Sam thinks it did – in his memory, it went on for hours – but he'll never forget the look on Dean's face as he sobbed his apology. The look of sheer terror in their dad's eyes as he repeated, over and over, "You can't leave Sam, Dean. You gotta watch out for him. You're in charge of him. If anything happened-"

Sam looked on in horrified shock, shaking and crying and promising never to do anything like it again.

 

 

After that, Dean was glued to his side, morning till night. Sam could hardly even go to the bathroom without Dean right outside the door. Sam didn't go swimming again for ten years.

 

 

Sam's fourteen when the dreams start. The first time, he wakes up in a panic, thinking somehow that he's drowning again. But then his eyes adjust to the gloom, and Dean throws an arm around him, soothing him, even in sleep, "Ssh, Sammy. I got you. 'S all right."

Sam takes huge gulps of air into his lungs, forcing himself to calm down. To realize that he's safe, in bed. Not drowning. Then something clicks, and with dawning horror, he understands that it wasn't the pool he was dreaming of. It was the spanking.

He casts a furtive glance to the other bed, and the shadowed outline of their dad, snoring peacefully, then down at the arm across his belly.

Gradually, he takes in everything in the room – the breathing patterns, the stripes of light on the ceiling from passing cars, the murmur of the air conditioner, and the sticky mess in his shorts.

He'd been dreaming of Dad spanking Dean, and he'd come in his sleep.

Slowly, so as not to wake him, Sam removes Dean's arm and slithers out of bed. He tiptoes into the bathroom and shuts the door before turning on the light. He lets his head fall back with a thunk, a churning mixture of dread and shame making him want to hit the floor in front of the toilet.

Sam knows that there's a hell. He knows it. And he knows that there's a special place there for people like him. He doesn't want the dream and he doesn't want to think sick things about his fucking brother.

The next morning, after lying there, feeling Dean shift in his sleep, listening to soft respiration, he decides that he's way too old to be sharing a bed with his brother. He demands that in the next hotel they get cot.

Sam and Dean never share a bed again.

It keeps happening, though. In the dream they're always the age they are now: fourteen, sixteen, eighteen... Dad's got Dean straddling his lap, and he's wailing on him. His huge hand turning Dean's ass pink, and Dean sobs for him to stop.

Sometimes, though, in the dream, it's his hand. He's the one spanking Dean – all laid out across his lap and helpless. And in the dream Sam's hand gets hot. Dean's laid out over his knees and he's naked and squirming and he's hard. He's begging Sam, but it's not clear for what. Just begging.

He can feel Dean's sweat slick skin as he slides across Sam's lap. Feels Dean's cock as its trapped between them. And the thing of it is, in the dream, Sam's not mad. He's not yelling or saying anything at all. He's just there, spanking his brother. And he wakes up sticky and flushed every time. Overheated and raw and nauseous.

It's when the dream starts to invade his daylight hours that he snaps.

He's sixteen the first time it happens. He's jacking off. No one's around and he has the place to himself. The sun is in his lap as he watches _Jeopardy_ after school, and the heat through his jeans gets him hard.

He hits 'mute' on the remote and shimmies out of his pants, one hand stroking over his chest, the other cradling his balls. He shuts his eyes and conjures up an image of Pamela Anderson in a red swimsuit.

Everything is going fine – Pamela starts out with a striptease and a giggle, moves on to a few naked calisthenics, and is just about to crawl up the bed to give him head – when the scene shifts. It turns into Dean, grinning up at him, and Sam stops moving. He tries to bring Pamela back, but all he gets is flashes of Dean bent over, Dad spanking him mercilessly. Dean, bent over and Sam spanking him while Dad watches. Dean sprawled over a chair. Or – Oh God - tied face-down to the bed.

Sam clenches his eyes tight and wills the images away, but he's too close, his cock isn't paying any attention to what his brain wants, he's too far gone and he comes, hard and whimpering, all over his fist.

After that he doesn't jerk off for three months. But the dreams still come.

He buckles down and studies hard, focuses on escape. If he can get out - leave this life - if he can just get away from them, from the too-close quarters and the claustrophobia, it'll stop. He just needs to be able to _breathe_.

He sprints toward the finish line of a college acceptance letter with his head buried in his books.

He knows that there's something terribly wrong with him. Maybe he was born wrong. But if he can just get out… just leave, then… everything will be okay.


End file.
